


Converse

by all_i_see_is_sky



Category: The Two Princes (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, Missing Scene, rupert and amir are irrelevant, set in season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24726748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_i_see_is_sky/pseuds/all_i_see_is_sky
Summary: "How are we going to be okay? The kingdom’s taken over, there are ghosts everywhere, our armies are half dead, and Rupert and Amir are off God knows where trying to solve a problem we don’t even understand! What about that says okay to you?”“None of it. It’s messed up, I know that, but we have to keep going, okay? We’re going to fix this. We have to fix this.”Or, what exactly happened to Joan and Cecily during Season 2.
Relationships: Lady Cecily/Sir Joan (Two Princes Podcast)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	Converse

**Author's Note:**

> Just binged all of this podcast and I cannot stop thinking about it. So. Here. Have 3k of angsty Season 2 Jecily.  
> (Apologies if anyone is a bit OOC, this is my first time writing these characters and I'm kind of afraid I did a bad job.)

_A road, outside of the Heartland_

_Five hours after Malkia_

Clouds of dust billow up around Joan’s horse, blowing into her nose and mouth. The horse’s hooves pound a pattern in the dirt, a constant thump that matches the carousel of Joan’s thoughts.

_My fault. My fault. My fault._

She bends lower over her horse, determined to get as far as she can before the daylight fades. Behind her, Joan can hear Cecily’s horse pick up the pace as well. 

_My fault. My fault. My fault._

They finally slow down near the edge of a small forest as the sun dips below the horizon, giving their horses a chance to rest. Joan hops off and brushes away the leaves on a portion of dirt near the road. 

“We’ll camp here for the night. It’s too dark to keep going.” She cocks her head to the side. “Unless we light a torch or something-”

Cecily blinks, climbing down from her horse in a way that still manages to look graceful. She straightens her skirt and responds,

“Even I know holding a torch on a moving animal is probably not a good idea.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Joan says. Cecily cocks her head to the side and looks like she’s about to ask a question, so Joan changes the subject. “Get some firewood. I’ll set up.”

Cecily nods and moves towards the trees. Joan lifts their bags off of the horses, pulling out the bedrolls and rations. She spreads them on the ground and has started to clear an area for the fire when Cecily returns. 

“So,” she says, dumping an armful of sticks onto the pile they’ve made. “What’s up?”

Joan barely glances at her, focused on striking the flint. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

_My fault. My fault. My fault._

Cecily feeds the logs into the flame and plops down on a bedroll next to Joan. 

“Seriously, you’re freaking me out.” she says. “Why are you so mopey?”

Joan raises an eyebrow, handing her a piece of dried meat. “Mopey?”

“Yeah,” Cecily responds. She takes a bite of jerky and spits it out. “Ew, what’s in this?”

Joan shrugs, poking at the fire with a stick. 

“I don’t know.” 

_My fault. My fault. My fault._

Cecily points at her. “See, that! That right there! Normally if I said something about what was in the jerky, you’d be all ‘meat, I’d assume.’ Or at least tell me to stop complaining. But you’re not doing anything. So…” she scoots closer. “What. Is. Up?”

Joan shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

_My fault. My fault. My fault._

Cecily gives her an unimpressed look. “Yeah, no. Not buying it.”

Heaving a sigh, Joan turns to face her. “I just - this is all my fault.”

Cecily blinks. “What?”

“This! This whole-” Joan waves a hand in the air- “this whole thing with Malkia! I’m the one who followed her voice, I’m the one who let her out, I’m the one with such a huge _hero complex_ that I can’t stop myself when I hear someone ask for help!”

“So?” Cecily says. “Did you forget why you were in that cave in the first place? I led you there, Joanie. It’s more my fault than yours.”

Joan bites her lip. “How are you okay with that?”

Cecily grabs Joan’s hands, holding them in between her own. “Okay, truth? I’m not. I’m totally not. But we don’t have time for guilt, okay? We’re going to fix this. Because we’re strong, and determined, and _really flipping hot._ ”

Joan cracks half a smile at the last one. Cecily grins and keeps going. “And we can do anything if we put our minds to it. _You_ taught me that. So stop moping, and help me save the kingdom.”

At that, Joan’s mouth curls into a real, actual smile for what feels like the first time in hours. “Yeah. Okay.”

* * *

_Queen Atossa’s castle_

_Three days after Malkia_

The castle of the East is beautiful, all high, sweeping ceilings and tall windows. Joan’s room is huge, the bed large enough to hold at least five people. She’d protested it at first, but Queen Atossa had insisted. 

_You’re the knights champion, Joan,_ she had said _. You deserve it. Besides, tomorrow and the day after are likely to be tiring. You should get a good night’s sleep._

She’s right, of course- Joan seriously doubts that Malkia is going down without a fight. So, by all means, Joan should be sleeping right now. But she can’t. She doesn’t know if it’s the temperature or the light or the fact that she’s just used to sleeping on cold hard dirt, but the moon is high in the sky and Joan is still awake. 

Sighing, she rolls out of bed and pads down the hall, bare feet sliding against the stone tiles. She’ll go down to the palace kitchen and get a glass of milk or something to help her sleep. 

A sound from a room off the hall startles her. Silently, Joan peeks her head through the half-open door to see an empty bedroom, a figure in a long nightgown standing on a small balcony adjacent to it. They’re standing very still, gazing out over whatever’s below them. Joan only realizes it’s Cecily when she sees the ponytail. 

Slowly, she makes her way through the room and out onto the balcony. Joan leans against the railing, turning her head to look at Cecily. The other girl hasn’t even glanced her way, eyes still fixed on the horizon. 

“Are you all right?” Joan asks. 

“Do you ever think about love?” Cecily says by way of response. 

Joan blinks. “Well, I’ve been helping organize a wedding for the past three months.”

“No, I meant-” Cecily gestures towards Joan- “like, love in relation to _you._ ”

“Oh. I- not really. Romance isn’t a thing I consider very often, I guess. Why?”

Cecily shrugs. “I don’t know, I just- I was just thinking.” Joan raises an eyebrow, urging her to keep talking. “Like, I spent the first eighteen years of my life wanting to marry the prince, right? I thought I was in love with him. But once I actually met him, I- it didn’t feel like love. And, I mean, that makes sense, right? You can’t fall in love with someone instantly. You have to get to know them first.”

“Okay..” Joan says. Cecily’s obviously been thinking about this for a while- it’s much more composed then most of her train-of-thought statements are. But Joan doesn’t quite understand why Cecily is bringing this up now, in the middle of a kingdom-threatening mission. “I guess I understand that?”

The corner of Cecily’s mouth twitches up in what is a very un-Cecily-like manner. 

“I thought you would.” Joan frowns slightly and opens her mouth to ask just _what is wrong_ with her friend, but Cecily is already turning back towards her room. “We should get some sleep.”

Joan nods. “Good night, then.”

Cecily smiles. “Good night.”

* * *

_A road, outside of the Heartland_

_A week after Malkia_

Armies, Joan has discovered in the past few days, move really slow. 

They’ve been on the road for almost four days and are only now approaching the Heartland; which, Queen Atossa has said, is actually quite fast for an army this size. Joan supposes it makes sense that an army of hundreds would move slower than two girls on horseback, but she’s still antsy. Another day of traveling is another day that Malkia is on the throne. 

She turns her head to look back at the rest of the army, her eyes almost instinctively rooting out a familiar face. Cecily is seated in a wagon at the back of the procession, animatedly talking with someone Joan assumes is a servant of some sort. She smiles and turns forward again. 

The first horses crest the hill leading to what used to be the Hollow, blue flags flying. Joan is squinting towards the castle, trying to discern any change in the landscape, when a flash of red catches her eye. 

Rows of soldiers are moving towards them from the other direction, being led by a huge, ornate carriage proudly bearing the insignia of the West. Next to Joan, Queen Atossa halts her horse and smiles. 

“Look who’s just in time.”

“Atossa!” Queen Lavinia calls as soon as her carriage has stopped within speaking range. She steps out, wearing a dress that is most certainly not battle-appropriate. Distantly, Joan wonders if Lavinia has ever actually been in a fight. “Good to see you.”

“And you as well,” Atossa responds. “Shall we-”

And then the ghosts attack. 

There’s no warning, just a sudden change in the direction of the wind and a loud, high-pitched shriek. Half-visible figures stream out of the air around them, their noise ethereal and terrifying. All around her, Joan hears knights screaming, sees them be picked up- _picked up! Like they’re simply a piece of fruit!-_ and thrown ten, twenty feet. She dives off of her horse, ducking and dodging, trying to fend off the spirits where she can and where she can’t...

Joan doesn’t want to think about that. 

“Retreat!” she shouts, over and over until she’s hoarse. People turn and run in every direction, some limping, some crawling. Joan drops to the ground, leaping and running through the chaos, trying to make sure everyone has heard her. When she thinks most have made it out, she runs. 

Everyone seems to have gathered in a clearing a ways away from the castle, and thank god, the ghosts aren’t following. Joan scans the crowd; there are the two queens, and some soldiers she recognizes from the East, and some from the West, but not nearly as many as there were. And where is-

Someone taps her shoulder. Joan spins, suddenly afraid it’s ghosts or Malkia or something worse. But it’s just Cecily. 

“Are you okay?” she asks. Joan can’t trust herself to respond, so she just nods. “Good. I think most people got out-”

“There were more,” Joan croaks, waving an arm at the crowd. “There were more. I have to go-”

“No way,” Cecily says firmly. “You’re staying right here. It’s too dangerous.”

“But we have to-”

“What you need to do now is stay here,” Cecily says. “You’ve done all you can. We need to regroup and figure this out.”

“No, I need to help them!”

“Joan.” Cecily snaps. “You can’t, okay? It’s too dangerous. They’re- they’re gone. I’m sorry.”

And with that, Joan just crumples. Cecily reaches for her, pulling her close as she whispers,

“I’m sorry."

* * *

_Impromptu army camp_

_Two weeks after Malkia_

Gusts of cool air blow frantically back and forth, the shrieks of Malkia’s undead soldiers still hanging in the air. Joan climbs off of her horse and helps the wounded knight - the one she found bleeding in a ditch a ways away- down. He was on guard duty, one of the many shifting positions they’ve set up here, and must have strayed too close to the castle. Joan doesn’t know him very well. 

Not that that matters, of course, when he’s practically bleeding out right here. 

“Come on,” she grunts, hefting one of his arms over her shoulder. He limps forward slowly, Joan supporting most of his weight as they stagger towards the medical tent. She lowers him down onto one of the few unoccupied cots, turning when she hears a shout. 

“Joan!” Cecily yells, practically attacking her with a ferocious hug. “Are you okay? I haven’t seen you in _days,_ I was getting worried-”

“I’m fine,” Joan cuts her off. “He needs help, though.” She jerks her thumb towards the wounded man behind her. Cecily nods and disappears, coming back with a stack of bandages and a short, smiling woman who Joan assumes is a medic. The healer gets to work, and Cecily grabs Joan’s wrist and pulls her outside. She seats them both on a bench outside of another tent. 

“He’ll be all right,” She says. “Gwyn- the doctor- is practically magic. She’ll have him fixed up in no time.”

Joan just nods, twisting her hands in her lap. “How many-” she starts, then shakes her head. “Never mind. I’m not sure I want to know.”

“It’s not good,” Cecily admits. “I’ve been helping out around the med tent, running bandages and stuff. There’ve been a lot of people…” she flinches, and Joan instinctively puts an arm around her. The other girl sinks into her, shaking with small, silent sobs. “This just- this wasn’t supposed to happen, you know? Things were _good,_ finally. And now-”

“We’ll be okay,” Joan says quietly. Cecily whirls on her, face red and tears beginning to gather at the corners of her eyes. 

“ _How?_ How are we going to be okay? The kingdom’s taken over, there are _ghosts_ everywhere, our armies are half _dead,_ and Rupert and Amir are off God knows where trying to solve a problem we don’t even understand! What about that says _okay_ to you?”

“None of it,” Joan says. “It’s messed up, I know that, but we have to keep going, okay? We’re going to fix this. We _have_ to fix this.”

Cecily sags against her, and Joan pulls the shorter girl closer before she even knows what she’s doing, burying her nose in Cecily’s curls and whispering tiny words that don’t mean anything. 

And wow, what has the world come to if _she’s_ comforting Cecily. Cecily, the one who’s always cheerful and funny. Cecily, the one who’s always busy, and smiling, and full of sunshine. Cecily, who’s so utterly _Cecily_ that seeing this part of her- this sad, hopeless, worried wreck- scares Joan more than anything else. 

Maybe, Joan thinks, this Cecily has been there all along. 

“Sorry,” Cecily murmurs, and Joan shakes her head. 

“Don’t be.”

“This- this is really fucked up, huh.”

Joan huffs a short laugh, too tired to be surprised that this royalty-reared girl is cursing. 

“Yes. It really is.”

* * *

_Impromptu army camp_

_Three weeks after Malkia_

The crowd of people that gather in front of the food tent can barely be called an _army-_ they’re a handful of soldiers from the East and West, some that Joan recognizes from the Heartland, beaten down and bruised. Each one of them, Joan knows, has seen a lot of people die the past few days. 

And now she’s asking them to go back out there and risk their lives again. 

_We have a plan,_ she reminds herself, climbing onto a discarded wooden box. _It’s a good plan. It will work._

She looks back over the crowd, at faces that she knows and faces that she doesn’t, and Joan starts talking. 

“Four months ago, we were afraid. The forest was approaching, and we didn’t know how to stop it. But, through the bravery and ingenuity and _love_ of two princes from very different places, stop it we did. And we created something- a kingdom where everyone can be themselves, where it doesn’t matter where you’re from or who you love. And it might not be perfect, but we were making progress.” She pauses, glancing back over the crowd. They’re nodding along, which seems like a good sign. “But now we need to fight for that. Fight for our world, our progress, our lives. Because if we don’t stand together, we’ll all die.

“So gather your weapons. Don your armor. We’ll fight for this kingdom, because it is this kingdom that brings us together!”

The crowd gives a resounding cheer and scatters, heading off to prepare. Joan lets out a long sigh of relief and jumps off the box. 

_Okay. We can do this. We’re going to do this._

“Nice speech.”

Joan turns to see Cecily, standing in the doorway of another tent. Her hair is down for once, bouncing around her shoulders, and she’s wearing a short brown tunic Joan thinks might be hers. 

“Thanks,” Joan replies. “Amir already gone?”

Cecily nods. “Took off earlier this morning- he wanted to get to Malkia by noon. I would have gotten you but you were busy.” She waves an arm at the people around them. 

“Yeah.” Joan is quiet for a moment. “So, this is it, huh? Here we go.”

“Here we go.” 

“Are you sure you can be the distraction? We can figure something else out if-”

Cecily snorts, a tiny bit of Cecily-ness bleeding back into her tone as she says, “I’ll be _fine,_ Joanie. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s distracting people.” she thinks for a moment, then adds, “And critiquing their decor choices. Trust me, I got this. I’m more worried about you.”

“The men will be all right,” Joan assures her. “We’re only going in after the ghosts disappear.”

“Not what I was talking about, but okay.”

“What?”

Cecily gives her a small smile, ducking in for a hug before Joan can even react. “Just- take care of yourself, okay? Stay safe.”

“Yeah,” Joan manages. Cecily turns and moves towards her horse, disappearing into the distance as Joan says, “You too.”

* * *

_Castle of the Heartland_

_Four weeks after Malkia_

“Hey.”

Cecily’s standing in the garden, absentmindedly trailing her fingers through a rosebush, when Joan finds her. Her hair is pulled back up into a high ponytail, her dress the same brocaded style she’s always worn. From the back, it’s like nothing has changed. 

But then she turns around, and her smile- that’s different. It’s still wide, but the brightness- the way it used to be able to light up a room- is gone. This, Joan thinks, is the smile of someone who’s seen a lot of bad things. 

“Hey,” Cecily says softly. “How’re you holding up?”

Joan shrugs. “All right. Everyone is still getting used to being back- not to mention that half the army is in the hospital so there’s not really any way to train. What about you?”

“All right. Things are almost back to normal.”

Joan snorts. “What, does that mean you’re going to start getting kidnapped again?”

Her joke falls flat when Cecily just gives her a small, sad smile. “No. It doesn’t seem right anymore, pretending to be in danger when so many people died. Besides. It obviously annoyed you.”

There’s an undertone to those words- something that says _I obviously annoyed you._ And Joan- staring at Cecily, the girl she’s come to know so well over the past month, the girl who manages to surprise her at every turn- can’t take that anymore. 

“You know what?” she snaps. “Yeah. It did annoy me. But not because you were wasting my time, or just being insane. Because every time I’d get a message that you were in danger, I’d get worried. Really, enormously worried. And when you turned up fine, laughing and talking, it _hurt_ me. Because it felt like you were just- messing with my feelings or something.” 

Cecily opens her mouth to say something, but Joan continues before she has a chance. “And I can’t sit here and watch you do- _whatever_ it is you’re doing, whatever idiotic thing you’ve cooked up in your head that’s making you act like some watered-down version of yourself, whatever _this_ is!”

Cecily opens her mouth. Closes it. Then says, “Why not?” It’s almost challenging, bright green eyes meeting Joan’s own. “Why can’t you?”

“Because I _care_ about you, okay? That’s it, that’s the big secret, I actually care, and you’re being ridiculous-”

And then Joan can’t talk anymore, because Cecily’s kissing her and it’s _everything._ Because Cecily tastes like honey and sunshine and home, and Joan can’t believe it’s taken her this long to realize that this is what she wants, that this is what she’s wanted for a very long time. 

Cecily pulls back, smiling up at her, and there it is. There’s the trillion-watt smile that Joan hasn’t seen since Malkia was taken down. Joan smiles back and Cecily’s eyes go wide. 

“Oh my god,” she says. “It happened. Jecily is canon now.”

Joan wrinkles her nose. “I have no idea what that means.”

“This is the obligatory garden confession scene!” Cecily squeals. “I can’t believe it.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Love you too, honeyboo.”

“Please,” Joan sighs as Cecily pulls her back down for another kiss, “never call me that again.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!


End file.
